


Forever and a Day

by notjustmom



Series: Tumblr fics 2018-19 [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fluff, M/M, Mycroft actually does buy milk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19773433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: A gift fic originally posted on tumblr, the request was for fluffy Mystrade....





	Forever and a Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanguisuga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/gifts).



It was one of those days. One of those days when the phone wouldn’t stop buzzing, he’d put out one fire only to have three more spring up elsewhere, and Mummy… Mummy wouldn’t stop dropping hints about dinner. To top it off, he was beginning to sense the tell-tale signs of a migraine beginning behind his eyes. Once, he would have only found something resembling peace in the silence of the Diogenes Club, but now - he looked down at his phone once more and couldn’t help but smile at the most recent message.

Hope Vlad is behaving himself, can you stop on the way home and pick up some milk? - G xx

He blinked at the message and shook his head in wonder, then texted back:

Of course. I’ll be home in twenty minutes. - M xx

Knocking off early? Headache? - G xx

You have no idea. Love you. - M xx

Ditto, dumplin’ - G xx

Mycroft got to his feet, and briefly considered taking some papers home that needed his attention, before defiantly changing his mind, then once again considered how one man changed his life, one singular man who saw him as more than just the stuffy bureaucrat in the bespoke suits.

He wasn’t sure - no, that’s not precisely true. 

He knew exactly when it had happened, the falling in love business. It was a Tuesday? Yes, a Tuesday afternoon, one April, when he had Anthea drive him past the crime scene where he knew Sherlock to be, and he caught a glimpse of Lestrade, simply standing there, arms crossed, but his demeanor was one of patient acceptance for the circus his brother created by his mere presence alone, and whatever had been in his mind vanished. Not just vanished, but was replaced by a sense of - if not peace, precisely, something very close to it. He blinked and the moment was gone, but within fifteen minutes, he knew everything, or thought he knew everything there was to be known about the attractive man who badly needed a trip to his tailor.

Of course, what was it, Shakespeare had written, about the course of true love never running smoothly? 

As he examined the milk options, far too many for his liking, he spared a few moments to reflect on why it had taken so long from first glimpse to first kiss. He could lay some of the blame at his wayward brother’s feet if he chose, but he knew, if he considered the matter honestly, that he was mostly at fault. Of course there was the fact that Lestrade had been still technically and legally married at the moment of first glimpse - but even after that obstacle was removed, with no small amount of help from an insensitive Sherlock, it had still taken years before he decided to take the plunge.

Perhaps there was some small amount of fate involved, but he wasn’t sure how much he bought into all that destiny nonsense, the idea that there existed one person meant for one, seemed outlandish, to someone of his logical and precise mind. He shrugged to himself then remembered they were almost out of the biscuits that Gregory preferred with his morning tea, and picked up a couple of packets, then made his way to the chip and pin, as he had used up most of his allotment of dealing with humanity for the day.

“Home, sir?” Anthea asked in her normally neutral tone, though she couldn’t help but grin internally at the idea that the DI had the power to send the ‘British Government’ on such a trivial errand, after only a few months of what Mycroft would probably call, ‘their cohabitation.’ She glanced up to meet his eyes and knew he could read what she was thinking. “Apologies, sir. It’s just -”

“Yes -?”

“May I speak frankly, sir?”

“Don’t you always?”

“Ever since… it’s, well, nice to see you happy, sir. He makes you a bit more human, is all.”

Mycroft raised an amused eyebrow at her, then muttered, “I will let him know his efforts are appreciated,” before turning his attention once more to his phone.

Nearly home. - M xx

Did you get biscuits? - G xx

Of course. - M xx

You do love me. - G xx

Was that ever in doubt? - M xx

Not ever. Hurry home. - G xx

“Do you know when I fell in love with you?” He asked Greg out of the blue later that night.

He closed his book and nodded at him, then smiled as he watched Mycroft blink rapidly for a moment in astonishment, before he kissed the tip of his nose and pushed a ginger curl from his eyes. “It was a Tuesday, in April. Six. No. Seven years ago? Right before John entered the picture. One of those oddball cases, your brother was in heaven, ripped into everyone on the scene, but they were all used to it by then, and you drove past in your posh sedan. I had glanced up just as you looked away. I knew it was just a matter of waiting until you were ready, is all.”

Mycroft blinked once more into the deep brown eyes and shook his head, amazed that he had once again been taken by surprise by the man who had stolen his heart, even before he could acknowledge he had one. He leaned down and kissed him lightly, then whispered, “thank you for waiting for me, love.”

“Woulda waited forever if I had to, don’t you know that, dumplin’?”

“Forever -”’

“Yeah, yeah, I know, it isn’t a real thing, just one of those romantic constructs created by greeting card companies to peddle their sentiment, but -”

“Forever, hmm?” He murmured as he fell asleep against his lover’s shoulder.

Greg nodded again, as he picked up his book and began to read. “Forever and a day, dumplin’.”


End file.
